The First One's Always the Hardest
by Twisted-Web-Tales
Summary: Australia struggles to deal with himself the weeks following Gallipoli. Concerned, New Zealand and England step in to help the young Nation recover! Slight PTSD.


The darkness of the broom closet was comforting to say the least. The small, empty, slightly damp space was like a secret refuge from the outside world and their prying, judgemental eyes. The collective spider webs and dusty cleaning equipment didn't try to talk about it, they didn't stare at him with pity or resentment and best of all, they didn't try to touch him. Darkness had quickly become his ally in the weeks following Gallipoli, in the dark no one could see his hands shake and tremble violently as he tried to piece together his composure, what little remnants of it remain at least. Australia drew his long legs up to his chest tightly before placing his forehead on his knees, his shaking hands lifting to hold his aching head desperately as he focused on his breathing.

In and out...right? Or was it out then in? He couldn't recall, was it always this difficult? He swallowed hard; why did his throat feel so sore, raw and tight? He WAS breathing, wasn't he?!

..

"GET DOWN!" Australia screamed loudly, straining his voice and throat so it might be heard by all around him. Bullets showered the ground around them in relentless streams, the thunderous sound of machine gun fire filling their ringing ears as they all struggled to dive back behind the jutting rocks for cover in time. Filthy and breathing hard and fast, no soldier dared to peek over the edge to peer at their assaulting enemy. Australia continued to yell orders to his soldiers from across their makeshift trench, his voice growing hoarse quickly as he struggled to keep it clear and audible over the unrelenting bang and clatter of their enemy. "KEEP YOUR HEADS AND ASSES LOW MATES!" He roared, his face filthy with dirt and blood as he attempted yet again to scan over their cover for the direction of their enemies fire. He couldn't see anything with this hazardous, bloodstained landscape, those bloody Turks were far too well hidden and had far too much of an advantage over them. He strained his neck to get a better view.

Bang.

The sound of shrapnel whizzed past his ear loudly and hands pulled down at his shoulders roughly, throwing him out of harms way. "BLOODY HELL!" Australia hollered in surprise, his face a dirty mixture of shock and relief as he stared up at his newly arrived brother and ally.

"WATCH YOUR OWN ASS!" Came the breathless, all be it annoyed yell in reply as New Zealand struggled to help pull his older brother to his feet, both filthy males instinctively ducking their heads low as an enemy explosion erupted loudly to their left. Rock and debris showing their cover, the soldiers around them screaming for orders and direction.

..

Australia lifted his head and leaned back against the dusty wall, his arms moving to hug his legs to his chest tightly. He had finally gotten ahold of his shaky, uneven breath (In. Out. In. Out) and was now just focusing on his pounding, unforgiving headache that always followed. His eyes stung terribly as he stared intently up at the spiderwebs he knew were above him in the darkness. There was a lot of dust and filth in this old closet, enough to make you sneeze and cough if stirred. Dust however had nothing to do with the unbearably sharp sting of pain and regret that resided behind his distant green orbs and threatened an unstoppable wave of tears that would probably never come.

He had not cried, he had desperately wanted to on so many countless occasions. Whether from pain or sadness, happiness or most of all anger, the tears had never once fallen, no matter how much he wished to God above they would.

No, he shouldn't wish for that. He knew he shouldn't, he had to stay strong and composed. It was not his job to cry.

New Zealand seemed to have shed enough tears for them both over the horrific course of the 10 month campaign. His younger brother being the compassionate, wonderful person he is, it was no surprise.

..

Australia's glassy green eyes stung horribly as the heavy nighttime rain pelted down upon them. His eyelids felt heavy and all he wanted to do was shut them and rest his aching body for a few small moments. Yes, that was a good plan, the heavy rain was kind of refreshing anyway, even if it was stirring up mud onto is uniform (England won't be happy about that).

So sore, why did his whole body scream at him with every shaky breath he took? Why was he so, unbelievably tired?

Yes, just a little nap will be fine, he was already laying on his back, why not?. His eyes fluttered closed and his breathing became much more shallow.

Goodnight.

"No! No, no no! Stay awake Aus!" Panicked hands grabbed at either side of his mud cake face, slapping him lightly in a bid to get his attention. Australia reopened his stinging eyes slowly to look up at his brother (had he always been there?), who was kneeling down beside him, heavy tears cutting track marks on his pale, dirty cheeks.

"Zea?" He whispered, his voice strained and confused over the constant background gun fire. New Zealand smiled down at him with relief, his pale shaking hands moving to cup his brothers face rather then slap it.

"I'm tired Zea."

So unbelievably tired.

"I-I know...please stay awake, y-you've been shot." He sobbed, his voice was thick and wobbly with emotion as he moved his hands from his brothers face to his shoulder to put pressure on the large heavily bleeding wound. Australia hissed in pain. He had been shot? When? Now? Why is Zea crying? He felt tired.

"I'm tired." He repeated numbly, his voice groggy as he stared up at those watering green orbs above, his vision was beginning to blur heavily and he couldn't seem to lift his arm to comfort the distort young country.

"I know. I know. Hey...HEY! Look at me, Dad's coming. Dads on his way, you can't...can't sleep!" His voice cracked and he began sobbing, pressing harder. The heavy downpour causing the blood and dirt to mix on the trench floor around their bodies.

"...dad..?"

Was that his blood? Oh, he had been shot. His eyes struggled to focus and he fought with all his lasting strength to keep them open, he could no longer feel his arm or shoulder and an icy coldness had started settling its way inside him. He couldn't fight it off much longer.

As Australia's eyes began to flutter closed once more he realised Zea was screaming something down at him that he could no longer hear nor understand. In fact, he couldn't hear much of anything, not the loud enemy gun fire or the bombs going off brightly in the distance of the black night. As he watched a blurry New Zealand twist away and start screaming something desperately at a passing British soldier, all Australia could think about was how he wished he could cry at that moment, just so Zea didn't have to. But he couldn't.

He would just have to settle for the rain water that pooled and overflowed down the sides of his face when his eyes finally shut for good.

..

One of Australia's hands pressed against his shoulder at the memory, his fingers twisting into the shirt material tightly as if to remind himself that it was indeed; in the past (though it was only recently had he been able to use the arm at all). As he continued to stare off into the black nothingness of the small broom closet, he couldn't help but be a little bitter. New Zealand wasn't hiding in a closet or breaking down mentally everyday like he was. Zea didn't struggle getting out of bed in the morning or jump at every loud noise that snuck up on them. Most of all, New Zealand could talk about it with someone without freaking out emotionally (he had tried to talk to Australia a few times but had been brushed off by his older brother), he didn't have to pretend to be fine like Australia did. Was he really the only one feeling sad, confused and overwhelmingly guilty all the time? He was the reason nearly 9 thousand of his people lost their precious human lives in 10 short, horrific months! They didn't even win! So what was the point of it all!?

What was the point!

They had both returned from Gallipoli defeated and saddened about the whole horribly, tragic ordeal and it was then that England had stepped it. The great British nation had instructed the two to return to his home and stay with him for a few weeks to readjust and re cooperate. 'Your first real battle is the hardest thing you will ever experience. I will not have you both face its outcome alone.'

In other words 'I want to keep an eye on my sons and their war recovery.'

Australia liked that, as useless as the sentiment was; he liked that England still cooed over his chicks like a big eyebrowed mother hen. He really loved that pommy bastard sometimes.

And so they had stayed, taking up their old bedrooms and chores from when their were kids growing up under England's rule. It had been 2 weeks since they had left Gallipoli and while Australia and New Zealand had much to recover, England on the other hand was still fighting on many other war fronts and so he was rarely home for supper; and when he was he looked tired and terribly haggard. It was a sharp reminder that Australia would eventually have to get back out their and spill even more blood.

Blood, dirt and pain. Gun powder and shrapnel, screams of agony.

Nevertheless when England was home for supper (and it was normally very late in the night), he would share with them updates and stories on the war, describing his enemy and their battles in glorious detail.

Just like when they were kids.

Innocent, sweet (most of the time) Colonies.

Except back then Australia absolutely loved hearing about it all and New Zealand could not stand it. Now, New Zealand would listen intently and give his calm, educated opinion on the subject (he always was England's favourite when it came to academic learning) and Aus found himself sitting quietly detached from the conversation.

His eyes downcast as his hands shook violently under the table cloth. He didn't not eat much or complain about the cooking and would always excuse himself before England could announce the latest casualties of both sides.

And always he would find himself hiding back in the safe darkness of the old broom closet, just like he did tonight.

Australia was so swept up in his own twisted concentration that he didn't even hear the soft footfalls of approaching boots on the old wooden floor just outside his sanctuary. It wasn't until the closet door was pulled open slowly and the bright yellow light of the hallway washed over him that he found himself staring up at the curious young face of his brother.

A few beats of silence passed between them, both young men just taking in the reality of their situation.

"Hey..." New Zealand finally spoke, his voice low and soft as he opened the closet door all the way, his face concerned.

"Hey..." Aus whispered back, his eyes becoming down cast as he released his legs and let them stretch out.

"You...you ok mate?" Zea crouched down in the doorway so he was at eye level with the brunette, a hand resting on his knee for support.

Silence was his answer. It was enough.

He waved his hand around as if fighting off invisible spiders. "It's gross in here bro, you're all dirty." Zea forced his tone to be as light and happy as possible in hopes that it might just lift the awful mood. "You wanna go have a bath or are you just happy to bum around in the dark with your misses?" He pointed to the mop in the corner with a grin.

Still, silence. Wow, ok this is serious, Australia would be howling with laughter on a normal day. He had changed so much so quickly, his fire had quelled to a spark and that spark was almost completely gone now.

Of course New Zealand had noticed the changes since their return from Gallipoli, it had been so hard on them both- not to mention Dad.

He had been lucky, the whole ordeal had been absolute hell on earth for him so he spent most of the time a complete emotional wreak, but as a result he was able to talk about his experiences and move forward. Australia on the other hand had been cool, calm and enthusiastic throughout the whole campaign, bottling up his fears, never crying, never cracking under the pressure and everyone just assumed he'd perk back up to his normal outgoing self and fight on, though it was obvious now a lot more was cracked then they had first thought.

Shattered. Broken. Bloody and screaming for help.

New Zealand took in a steady breath before standing. "Look I know you don't want to talk about it-

"I don't." Australia's sharp interjection was low and firm.

Dust, dirt and mud. Mud everywhere, stirring the ground, it's hard to run, I'm stuck. I'm a target. I'm going to die.

"You would have locked the closet if you really didn't want to talk." The curly haired young man retorted from the small doorway. He dared not enter the cramped space, he had tried it earlier last week when he first discovered what was going on. Australia had flipped out (for lack of a better term) like he had never seen before, he screamed and screamed bloody murder; kicking and wailing for Zea to leave. It was so scary, he had never seen his big brother act that way before (not even under enemy fire), so he had left, shocked. When he had finally questioned him later that day about it, Aus had replied numbly.'When I'm alone the closet is my refuge. When you enter, it becomes a war bunker and I start expecting the bombs to fall.' And experience the two had suffered all to much.

That was the most he had ever gotten out of him. It was enough.

His brother was suffering.

Zea offered his pale hand out to his brother, perhaps if he could pull Aus out of the darkness and into the light; they might finally make some progress.

"I don't want to talk mate." Australia repeated firmly as he took the offered appendage, stood up awkwardly in the short space and shuffling past his younger brother into the hall. "Just drop it, I'm fine." He turned and started to walk towards the staircase.

Liar.

You're suffering and it hurts me. You push me away when all I want to do is help.

Tears prickled the edges of New Zealand's saddened green orbs as he watched his brother walk away for what felt like the hundredth time and before he knew it, he was sobbing out after him.

"I-I know Gallipoli was rough, it hurts I know that. But please _please, _don't keep shutting me out." Australia paused mid stride, turning to look over his shoulder. "I want to help you, let me help you. _Please Aus_!"

Silence passed between them once more. Thick with tension and anxiety, just like when they waited for the bombs to drop and kill them in their sleep. No, this was far worse.

"...I'm taking a bath, goodnight." Australia's tone was distant and soft as he replied calmly and continued to retreat away. Leaving New Zealand to stand alone in the old hallway, overwhelmed with sadness as he pulled the broom closet shut and struggled desperately not to shed a tear.

It seemed crying was all he was good for.

...

England's bathtub was the large, exquisite kind. The kind that made baths fun as a kid because it felt like a great swimming pool to such a small colony. It wasn't a pool of course, it was a bathtub; that fact became all to clear as he grew and everything that was once mighty seemed to shrink in size around him.

"How old are you mate?"

"I'm 16 sir, and ready to fight for my country."

As Australia stared at the ugly bathroom tiles on the wall, he wondered how big and scary everything must have appeared to that young Aussie soldier. His gun, his uniform, his enemies and his allies- all giant and terrifyingly daunting...

He wondered briefly if that kid had survived, is he home right now sitting in his own tub? Perhaps he died by Turkish hands? Or worse still, he survived and was now continuing the fight somewhere else in his name...

A shiver ran up his spine.

How long had he been sitting in this bath?

1 hour perhaps? 3? 10 minuets? Time had eluded him it would seem and he wasn't making any new plans to move.

The tubs hot water had long ago turned cold, the bubbles had since disappeared leaving the water clear and a pruned texture to his finger tips and toes.

Calloused hands grip his face, his throat and squeeze down hard- choking him. Hands wet with blood in his own as he screams desperately over the gunfire for aid. Broken hands, busted knuckles bleeding and scratched.

His hands were shaking again- he plunged them under the clear, freezing water in a bid to cease their trembling. They did not stop.

Australia took a deep, shaky breath and shut his eyes to concentrate. Water drops fell from his short wet hair as he leaned himself forward to grip his legs that had now drawn themselves up to his muscled chest.

In. Out. In. Out. Breath.

Thump thump thump. It was faint at first.

His heartbeat?

Thump thump. It's getting closer, louder.

The enemy perhaps?

Thump... It stopped.

No.

This time he had heard the footsteps rapidly approaching from down the hall, he was very rarely caught off guard these days. Still, he made no attempt to move.

In. Out. In. Out.

His eyes stung horribly.

The old wooden bathroom door clicked before it was pushed open slowly and England walked in, still dressed in his war uniform- though not nearly as neatly as before. The jacket was gone, the dress shirt underneath had its sleeves rolled up to the elbows, the dark green pants were untucked from the combat boots and his tie and gloves were missing.

He had been working late again.

England looked desperately tired as he pulled up short in front of the tub, his hands on his hips, his pose screaming exhaustion. But still, he stood straight and in control.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" He asked, raising a brushy eyebrow expectingly. "I've been in my study working and waiting 3 hours for this bloody bathroom light to switch itself off. It has yet to do so, which means you have been in here for far too long."

3 hours? That can't be right, that would make it 1am.

Australia's head merely dropped to his wet knees and he hugged himself tighter.

"Sorry..." He whispered softly into his knees, still making no movement attemps.

England's hands dropped away and he sighed. "No...no, it's fine." He rubbed his eyes slowly, relishing in the small relief the pressure brought to the strained muscles before walking over to sit on the edge of the white tub next to the tanned Aussie. "What's up old chap?"

His hand found its way to the back of Aus's wet head instinctively and he began to stroke his brown hair supportively. Just like when he was younger...

Silence was all he got in return. He had expected as much, Australia was by far the most emotionally stubborn of all the Kirkland family (besides himself of course, but he'd never admit that). But this young man sitting disheartened and naked in his bathtub was not his son, Australia is courageous, reckless and irresponsible. Australia played rough, smiled annoyingly bright and never took anything too seriously.

No, New Zealand had been right to call him home from the war front, this was not his son. Not anymore.

England was touching him. He didn't want to be touched, it destroyed his little illusion that it was all a horrible, terrifying nightmare; touch made everything all too real. Touch reinforced the fact that this really was his twisted reality.

Smoke, ash and flame. Burnt, bleeding, mangled bodies strewn across a bloodstained minefield. So many screams, so many dead. And it was just the beginning.

It hurt his heart to think about it.

But he didn't pull away. He couldn't, and as strange as it was, England's touch was oddly comforting. It hurt yes, but he appreciated that even in his horrible reality, his dad was still there for him; even if he had been doing things for himself for awhile now.

"I'm proud of you my boy."

Wait, what?

Australia's eyes widened in surprise as England's hand wrapped around his head and pulled him close to press against his thigh in an awkward half hug. They sat like that for a few moments, England hand making soothing circular motions on his neck.

Eventually, the brunette lifted his head ever so slightly and leaned into the affection.

"I hate it." Australia whispered finally into the blonde mans side. England hummed lightly in acknowledgement, nodding absently and waiting for him to continue. "I-I... don't think I can do it anymore. I feel awful and I hate it." He repeated softly.

England tightened his grip and sighed in understanding. "I know, I know. The first one is always the hardest.." He commented calmly. "And if I'm honest, it doesn't get any easier...you just get better at dealing with it."

Australia moaned sadly. His hands continuing to tremble violently under the clear water, his head aching terribly.

"Look I know you don't want to talk about this. But what your feeling right now, this guilty, horrible feeling of regret and sadness. It's undoubtedly going to get far worse. Your still so very young and there's still a lot of war left to wage...even more battles left to fight..." England was never one to coddle or mince words but his voice was firm and laced with sadness. The kind of sadness only a parent could feel for their struggling child.

The thought of it caused a small sob to tear from the younger man's throat.

"You've grown up, my boy. You did the day you dawned that uniform and picked up that gun."

"... But why...does it feel so awful?" The young nation croaked, straining his neck to stare up at that familiar face for answers. "Why does it hurt so much...?"

The British man took a few moments to find the correct words before he settled with a sad smile.

"You are _Australia, _what you no doubt feel is your Countries collective sorrow and regret. The people, the land, all of it make up who you are, who you shall become- just like how the United Kingdom is who I am. This war is your first real taste of tragedy I'm afraid. Their pain is your pain, their struggle is your burden to bare." He explained calmly as if teaching a history lesson (which given their current situation, was a little weird). "You've never experienced such pain before because up until now, I've been carrying that burden for you. The fact you can feel Gallipoli's toll merely means you've grown up lad."

England's hand trailed down to Australia's bare shoulder to give him a supportive shake, he stopped as soon as his fingers brushed over the icy skin.

"Blimey!" He exclaimed, his profound eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Your cold as bloody ice boy! Let's get you out of this tub or you'll catch your death!" He stood up and offered his hand. The younger Federation accepted it with mumbled 'cheers' and was pulled to his feet easily. Once standing, he shivered violently and England fetched a fluffy towel to drape around him before helping the younger man climb out of the tub.

Standing in the middle of the ugly bathroom, Australia clang to the towel's warmth and continued to shiver as the British Nation stood in front of him, taking a second towel to his head and began drying his hair.

Just like when he was young. Only now Aus rivalled the other mans hight and almost doubled him in muscles- not to mention the fact he was still growing. Honestly, he could rival America in hight one day- that made a faint, sad echo of a smile to place across the blondes pale face.

"You're quite lucky you know." England finally stated softly, never ceasing his drying motions. You've got a large family and many allies you can lean on for support if ever you desire it. Many Nations at your age didn't have that luxury."

Aus cast his gaze to the tiled floor, his eyes starting to sting terribly.

"You also have a brother who wants nothing more but to help you. He's been there right beside you all this time, during your experiences through bloodshed and pain and you _need_ to talk to him- share your worries. Move forward together so you might fight on. And you will fight on, this war demands you keep pushing forward, at any cost." Wisdom that could only come from true experience and heartache laced his words as England stopped his ministrations with the towel. Leaving it draped over the brunettes head, he held either side as if it were a hood.

"I'm so very proud of you." He whispered softly, his tired eyes crinkling happily as he spoke. "And I know you'll be ok, you've always been a strong Colony my boy. You'll rise to be an outstanding Nation in the future, I don't need magic to tell me that!"

And for the first time in a long time, the sting in Australia's distant eyes turned to tears. They welled up and spilled down his face as he threw his arms around England's neck to hug him close. Both towels fell to the floor completely forgotten as Australia sobbed hard into the older man's shoulder. England in return wrapped one arm around his son's tanned back, the other supported and caressed his neck lovingly as he let the broken Nation cry it out.

They stay like that for several minuets at least, England soothing him with touches and hums as Australia's heaving sobs turned to little hiccups and mews. The Brit did nothing to push him away, but instead patiently waited for Aus to feel well enough to make the first move. Eventually he did, breaking away and wiping his reddened eyes with a sniffle as England shuffle to get the lad some warm pyjamas.

Once dressed, (ironically the Brit had to undress due to getting completely soaked) Australia thanked him quietly. Stating that while he felt slightly better having cried, his heart still ached uncontrollably.

"You know how to fix that." England stated with a small smile, the two exiting the bathroom to walk down the hall.

"Yeah...cheers"

The two stopped outside the large wooden door to England's study, the Brit grabbed the ornate door knob lightly, his other hand reaching up to rub his exhausted face.

"Your going back to work now, aren't you." Australia stated in a low whisper, the other man looked at him with tired eyes.

"No rest for me I'm afraid. With 34 thousand British soldiers dead and the serious political urgencies Gallipoli stirred up- it's going to be a few long nights ahead for me." He clasped his hand down on Aus's shoulder supportively before he opened his study door and slipped inside with one last tired yawn- leaving Australia alone in the dark hallway to think about just how easy it was to forget about just how much his dad sacrifices for them. And even though he is obviously very busy, juggling multiple war efforts and operations- not to mention fighting and keeping up constant communications; he still took off precious time to help his young former Colony at probably a great expense to himself.

Seriously, sometimes Australia really did love that bloody Pommy bastard with all his aching heart...

..

New Zealand stirred at the sound of his bedroom door opening with the softest of '_clicks_'; at first his heart raced as his mind screamed 'enemy intruder', 'get you gun'! But the rush of adrenaline quickly subsided when he saw that distinct shadowy outline of his brother enter the dark room. He sat up in his bed, his heart still beating a little quickly as he rubbed his eyes and yawned tiredly.

"Hey bro..." He whispered across the room groggily, what time was it? "What's up?"

When it came to his brother, Zea found it easier to just roll with the crazy ideas or in this case, times that he decided to do things. To be honest, the fact Australia was even talking to him at all was kind of a miracle in its self.

Australia approached slowly, his hands were intertwined in front and he wrung them together in the way that told New Zealand that his older brother was apprehensive.

"Excuse me mate...did I wake you?" He apologised awkwardly as he approached ever closer. Zea just shrugged, no shit Sherlock- your in MY room, but...it's good to see you.

"It's fine, I was having a bloody rough sleep anyway- nightmares and stuff." He replied honestly. "What time it it?" He added, looking across at his brother who had now crossed the room and taken a seat on the edge of his bed; those anxious hands now residing in his lap.

"2 in the morning I think..."

"Oh...well in that case." New Zealand scooted over to the far side of the old mattress and with a one armed swoop, pulled back the blankets to allow access into his cosy fortress. "You wanna join me in _my _refuge_-_ I promise you'll be safe." Aus hesitated for a moment, he really didn't want to- it was all too real to their past...hiding under damp blankets in cramped underground tunnels waiting to die in the middle of night.

"Sure."

But he had to try, didn't he? As Australia climbed into the bed next to that familiar body and those warm protective sheets incased him, he let out a shaky breath into the darkness that he didn't even know he'd been holding.

Silence filled the space between them for several moments as Zea settled back under the white sheets next to him- both males staring at the bed canopy above. Just as Zea was about to give up and shut his eyes for sleep, the thick silence was broken with the sound of unexpected news.

"I want to talk about it..." The older male finally whispered quietly, his intent stare forward never wavering, his hands trembling ever so slightly. "I want you to help me mate, I want to move on..." He continued slowly, his breath catching in his throat when he felt slender fingers steady and intertwine with his own under the sheets, Zea squeezing him lightly for support.

They snuggled in closer together, Australia's longer body moulding around the shorter one perfectly as Zea rested his head on his shoulder, their hands never breaking apart. It was a struggle at first for him to be this close to another in the darkness, his mind continued to race and ache desperately- screaming at him that this bunker was not safe, that bombs and bullets were coming to tear them asunder. Still he refused his panicking body to move, determined to adapt. To move forward.

And he did adapt, he found that the longer they stay like this, silent and cuddled together, the more he realised that he was indeed safe under these blankets. Safe.

A wonderful, amazing feeling he had not experienced in what felt like forever. He had missed it dearly, and it felt perfect.

New Zealand hadn't made any attempt to talked about Gallipoli, he figured his brother would talk to him in his own time, at his own pace. To be honest, he was already over the moon with joy with the fact he was just laying beside him right now- and so close! He silently praised himself for getting England involved, he knew that if anyone could help him out, it was their dad.

"Hey Aus?" He whispered, tiredness seeping into his voice as he snuggled in closer and shut his eyes. "I know it's been a rough ride, but I just want you to understand something." He yawned suddenly, falling silent.

"What's that mate?" Australia whispered, fighting off his own exhaustion, his eyelids slipping closed as he waited patiently for a response.

"That no matter what comes our way, no matter what battles we fight. Win or lose, I'm gonna be right here by your side. Helping you...loving you, no matter what." He whispered happily.

"Thanks mate..."

"Anytime."

...

A little late, but I wanted write a little something for our 100th ANZAC day!

Oh we had a huge parade in the street with old soldiers, horses, nurses and everything! It was a lovely way to remember all those who died bravely fighting for us!

* Anzac Day falls onto the 25th of April each year and is one of Australia's most important national commemorative occasions. It marks the anniversary of the first major military action fought by Australian and New Zealand forces during the First World War in 1915.


End file.
